


The Love of My Eternity

by mikaylalwrites



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1820s, 1830s, 1850s, Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Feels, Arranged Marriage, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Heaven, Heaven & Hell, Hell, Historical Figures, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, Immortality, Immortals, Kinda, Original Character Death(s), Past Infidelity, Poetry, Post-Canon, Presumed Dead, Rebirth, Romantic Fluff, Sad, Sad Eliza Schuyler, Sad and Sweet, South, Temporary Character Death, The Void, a little post canon, but then again not exactly, half based on hamilton, it's half based on history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaylalwrites/pseuds/mikaylalwrites
Summary: Alexander Hamilton was dead.And then he wasn't.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	The Love of My Eternity

**Author's Note:**

> guess who wrote another hamilton fic 
> 
> this is _loosely_ based on this writing prompt: 
> 
> As an immortal and hopeless romantic, you fake your death whenever your spouse dies, then search for your spouse’s reincarnated soul to continue your “past lives”. Your immortal spouse is highly amused by this.
> 
> and i really do mean _loosely_

The world faded to red then to black like a curtain falling at the end of a play. Alexander never would have thought in his wildest dreams that the last face he would remember would be Aaron Burr’s. Of course, Angelica and his darling Eliza were by his side but he did not dare open his eyes though he could feel the familiar sensation of Eliza’s hand intertwined with his. He never wanted the last image of his wife to be her weeping over him. She deserved better than the suffering he has caused her. His last hope as he left Earth was that Eliza would cling to life much longer than he did. Strangely, he did open his eyes again. This time Angelica, Eliza, and his attending doctor were not there. Below him, only darkness. When he stood, he did not wobble or experience pain as he had in his last moments on Earth. The place he found himself was void of any light, color, or object. He was the only thing in existence. Was this his Hell? Nothingness? He’d always imagined Thomas Jefferson would be in his Hell but he had died long before the Virginian. Perhaps he was intended to create his own Hell, as he did on Earth. He sat cross-legged on the floor and waited for something, anything to happen, then it did. 

When his eyes opened again, a faint light appeared in the distance. He walked towards it, hoping to find the source and found it never got any closer no matter how far he walked. He wondered if this was a test of his ability to be satisfied with what he has, as he never was on Earth. He decided to stop chasing the light. A figure appeared in the corner of his eye. Alexander turned to face it. 

“Laurens?” he asked incredulously. He moved towards the figure that looked like his friend John Laurens, hoping to embrace him. The figure moved away. “Where are we?”  
“You are in the Void of Judgement, my dear friend,” said the figure. “John Laurens is in the afterlife his actions have given him. I have taken his form for your comfort.” 

“I am not comforted, thank you,” Alexander said annoyedly. Seeing Laurens had only made him hopeful and he did not need hope if he was never going to see him again. “Do you have to be so vague? Is Laurens in the good place or the bad one?” 

“You will find, Alexander Hamilton, that things are not that simple,” said the John Laurens imposter. “Each afterlife is tailored to each person.” 

“Will I see Laurens again?” 

“That depends,” said the imposter vaguely. When Alexander opened his mouth again, the imposter added, “On if your afterlives overlap. Do you think John Laurens would want you in his afterlife, Alexander?” 

“I should hope so,” he said, mildly offended by the implication that his best friend would like never to see him again. “He was my most dear friend. Why wouldn’t he want to see me?” 

Avoiding the question, the imposter asked, “Do you think you deserve a good afterlife? Would your wife want you to spend eternity happy? Would your children? What about your country?” 

“Why are you asking me this?” Alexander asked uncomfortably. Would his wife wish the worst for him? He doubted it but the suggestion imposed on him nonetheless. 

“To judge your character,” the imposter said casually. “Were you a good man? A good husband? A good father? A good treasurer?” 

“I don’t know!” Alexander yelled without meaning to. “What is a good man? An unflawed one or one who tried his best? There are so many things I would do over if I were able. I would love my wife more faithfully. There are words I would never have said. There are things I would never change. I would still have dueled Burr, every time. I was trying to be honorable, for my wife. Burr was never honorable and he deserved the blame he will live with for my death.” 

“Would you have killed Aaron Burr?” 

“Never. I could not live my life as an honorless murderer.” 

“Those you killed in battle, did they not make you a murder?” asked the imposter. 

Alexander never had an opportunity to answer the imposter’s last question. The void faded away and was replaced with satin sheets and screaming. In front of him was a stressed midwife and next to him were endless legs. The world seemed large, like it was when he was a child. It took him a few minutes to realize he was the one screaming. He was no longer a man but a crying child escaped from the womb of a mother. He was born again. He remembered every detail of his previous life. Was this the afterlife or was he brought back to Earth anew? He knew he had one goal now: find Eliza. 

The family he was born into were aristocratic Southern planters. This did not take long to find out as he often was not taken care of by his new mother but rather house slaves. He felt as if he were somehow reincarnated into the life of Thomas Jefferson and it made him rather uncomfortable. Being aware of the world being so little and incapable made his baby years grudgingly long. It felt like three years of waiting. It bothered Alexander like very little had in his previous life. He did not remember his baby years as Alexander Hamilton. He would try to forget his baby years as James Taylor. One of the odd things he noted as he grew older was that he looked exactly the same as he did in his previous life. Same brown eyes, same dark hair, same voice. His new mother and father were notably blue eyed. This caused a great deal of problems between them. Often, his new father claimed his new mother slept with someone else though she had never left the plantation and Alexander did not look like any of the slaves. 

When Alexander was around ten, a boy with dark curls from school, less than politely said he looked like Alexander Hamilton. The boy had referred to Alexander’s former self as a “creole bastard” which Alexander did not comment on. The boy suggested Hamilton could be his father. Alexander laughed and pointed out “how could he be my father? Hamilton avoided the South. Besides, he was killed in a duel long before I came along.” School was a breeding ground for comments on his new mother’s infidelity. Alexander usually allowed them to think whatever they wanted. They were not offending his true mother anyway. Ten was also the age Alexander was told, not asked, that he would be marrying the Thompson’s, the neighboring plantation owners, daughter Ann when he turned sixteen. The plan “was lucrative for both families” as his new father had put it. Alexander knew he would be doing no such thing. He would be leaving to find Eliza, the love of his eternity, before he could be married to anyone else. He never told his new father this. Alexander would find the back of his new father’s hand across his face if he tried. 

Alexander often thought of sending Eliza letters but he knew she would never believe her husband was alive again if he did not see her in person. He wrote them anyway. Strangely, being reborn had not diminished his poeticism or penmanship. He wrote her updates and sonnets then imagined what she would say. Would she still be alive when he found her? Or would she find herself in the void being questioned by a figure that looked like one of her sisters? He missed Angelica too, though he let his mind wander to her less. Being a child again left a lot of empty time to wonder what being reborn meant. He worried he may have to watch his beloved Eliza die as she did him. Perhaps he would have to see the rest of his children die. 

One afternoon when Alexander was old enough again to voice an opinion, a gentleman came looking after his new father. He claimed to be from the American Colonization Society, whatever that meant. His new father never liked to be disturbed but Alexander was not yet man of the house. He left the conversation with the stranger angry and yelled at Alexander to never open the door to those “abolitionists trying to strip him of his rights” again. They never came back. Alexander learned later they were never funded enough to buy slaves from their owners to free them, or rather, send them to Africa. Alexander wondered how so much had changed since he was Alexander Hamilton, the unfavored ex-Treasury Secretary. Now he was Alexander Hamilton, a man with values from the North roleplaying a planter’s son. 

As he came into his twenties again, he realized why his marrying Ann Thompson was so important to his new father: they were on the verge of losing their land. They had been selling slaves to make ends meet. Alexander never admitted it out loud but he couldn’t care less if they lost everything except the clothes on their backs. Neither of his phony parents were pleasant people. Times like these made him reminisce on the little time he had with his true mother. Somehow, despite the privilege his new life gave him, he wished he were born the same as he was the first time. He felt unaccomplished in his new life. He wrote numerous letters to Eliza but they wouldn’t reach her until he did. He was not writing anything useful these days. He spent most of his time trying to find a useful book in the library of the plantation. He could not imagine having been rich at some point only to fill a library with nothing thought provoking. Often, he found himself reading the pamphlets dropped off on the porch by this organization or that organization. The penny press had made things slightly more interesting. The propaganda against Martin Van Buren was well documented. One morning, he was greeted at the front door by a man promoting an abolitionist newspaper called the Liberator. Alexander subscribed to it without telling a soul, except Eliza in his unsent letters. He told her every thought he had in his mind - good, bad, longing, lustful. His heart felt weighted with stones, multiplying with each thought of her. He needed to leave. He needed to hold her in his arms again.  
He stole a horse and a coin purse at a stroke past midnight and rode away, hoping to find an inn to hide in before anyone realized he’d left. They found him a week later. Somehow Mr. Taylor had convinced him to return. Then convinced him to marry Ann months later. 

They could never convince him to love her or touch her. He slept in the office he had inherited from Mr. Taylor. The word father never crossed his mind now. He was trapped in a house with strangers that after nearly twenty-five years he could not name a single fact about. They rarely talked to him and he spent all his time having one-sided correspondence with a wife that likely moved on. He had not given her much to miss. 

Neither Alexander nor Ann were ever happy. He suspected she was having an affair, not that it mattered. He was having an emotional affair with his wife from another life. Her and her lover were never subtle. Her moans rattled through his skill, making him mad in a way he’d never experienced. He wasn’t jealous for her, he was jealous of her. His mind would dawdle on what sinful things he would do with Eliza if he ever had her within his reach again. It ached in new ways every time. He wanted her lips on his again. He wanted his hands to rediscover her body and fall in love with her all over again like rereading an old favorite story. He wanted things so close to his fingers but not within his grasp. 

He was freed when the Taylors died. He never told his arranged wife he was leaving. She wouldn’t care either way. Let her and the lover desecrate the whole house with their noises, he couldn’t care less now. He was going to find Eliza, or what was left of her, and nothing on Earth, in Heaven or in Hell could stop him. 

It was different on the road than it had been back in the small town in the South. Everyone knew Alexander Hamilton was fatally wounded in a duel with Burr in 1804 and did not give Alexander a second glance as he went in and out of inns. People did not come back from the dead. And though many rumours had circulated about him during his previous life, none of them suggested he was a witch. He introduced himself as James Taylor and that was that. 

The further north he got, the more relaxed he became. It was a combination of familiarity and the knowledge his wife was only a few hundred miles away. The North and South felt like two different universes. He had missed the buildings that huddled together in the cold northern winters. Things had changed since he was last close to home. There were more railroads now. He had seen a place to send telegrams. He almost wanted to try the novel invention out but decided his message would be rendered less efficient by telegram than in person. 

Once he reached Washington D.C., he asked around about the whereabouts of Eliza Hamilton. People told him interesting things: that she had founded the first private orphanage in New York city, that she had been an activist after he died. He wondered why she had never done these things while he was around. Was he holding her back? Nonetheless, his heart swelled with love and pride at the capabilities of his wife. Eventually, he found someone towards the center of the city who knew where Eliza was likely to be. The woman said that she was at home in bed. She had been under the weather as of late. When the woman verified the address, he thanked her profusely and raced off. 

He was confident until he stood at the front door. What if she believed him to be better off dead? He shook the stupid thought away and knocked on the door. At first, he was worried no one would answer. Then, a man opened the door to greet him. It had been many years but a father never forgets his son. He reminded Alexander of Philip, though he never reached the age the man in front of him was now. John Church Hamilton wore a terrified expression as if he’d seen a ghost, and in a way he had. 

“I have completely lost my mind,” John said incredulously. “I believe I am looking at my late father fifty years after he was confirmed dead. Maybe I should not be looking after my mother at all.” 

“Son,” Alexander said slowly, taking a step into the doorway. “I promise you are perfectly fine. I am as alive as you are.” He placed a hand on John to underline his point. John nearly jumped out of his skin and went looking for his mother. Alexander followed him and took everything in. He was overjoyed to see his family again. He could not wait to lay his eyes on Eliza the love of his life, the love of both of his lives, again. He walked into Eliza’s room and found her clinging to her life in bed. He took off his coat and moved towards her, never taking his eyes off her as she did so. She looked at him in utter shock. 

“You’re dead,” she whispered. Her voice was so soft now, so fragile. It nearly made Alexander weep upon hearing her speak. “I watched you die, Alexander.” 

“I know, my love,” Alexander said reassuringly, taking her hand. “And I did die. I saw death then I saw life again. Eliza, I know how impossible this is but I was born again. I came to the brink of Heaven and came back.” 

“Is it beautiful?” Eliza asked. 

“The Void of Judgement is dark but after your afterlife is determined,” he explained. “Yours will be comprised of as much beauty as you are.” Eliza raised an aged hand to his cheek and stared into his eyes. “How is Angelica these days?” 

“She’s been dead forty years, Alexander,” Eliza said. “Her body is next to yours at Trinity Church, where I shall soon be.” 

“Don’t say that,” Alexander said shakily. Tears pricked behind his eyes. “I didn’t come all this way to watch you die, Eliza.” 

“I love you,” she whispered so softly that Alexander had to lean in closer. “I kept every sonnet you wrote me” -she clutched a package at her neck- “they are all right here near my heart, as you always were. I dedicated most of my life to preserving your legacy, my love.”  
“I know,” he said fondly. “I heard the amazing things you have done. I could have never asked for a more loving and devoted wife.” 

“I saw you everywhere,” Eliza sniffled. “In every child I raised in the orphanage. In every window. In the twinkle of our children’s eyes. I never hoped to truly see you again except in death.” 

“I’ll stay as long as you stay with me. Longer even.” 

Eliza requested Alexander come to bed with her. He held her frail body in his arms as he stared into her chestnut eyes. He caressed her hair that had faded from its shimmering brown to a dull grey. He pressed a kiss to the sharp angle of her jawline and told her how beautiful she was. She was, and would always be beautiful to him. He refused to leave her side over the next week. He spent his days reading to her, eating with her, and holding her in his arms. 

“Alexander,” she said on the last day she lived. She knew her end was near. She placed a hand on her husband’s cheek. “‘Before no mortal ever knew / A love like mine so tender, true.’” 

He looked at his wife quizzically but obliged her. “‘Completely wretched — you away, And but half blessed e’en while you stay.’”

“Keep going, please,” she requested.  
“Okay,” Alexander said, nodding. “If present love’, I forgot the next word...um, something, ‘face / Deny you to my fond embrace / No joy unmixed my bosom warms / But when my angel’s in my arms.’ That was so many years ago but I still feel the same way I did then.” He smiled fondly at Eliza but it soon faded. “Eliza, dear lord, Eliza! Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I could never feel happiness again without you. Eliza, please come back.” Alexander refused to leave Eliza even then. She was a corpse now; everything that had truly been the favored object of his heart faded with the light in her eyes. He had never imagined her eyes as dull as they were now. The beautiful glow of her skin had dimmed with age but it was gone now, consumed by a foggy grey. John came into the room eventually to check on his father. 

“She’s dead,” he told Alexander. He dabbed his puffy eyes with a handkerchief. “You need to leave that bed now. You might decay along with her corpse.” 

“If I decay, fine,” he snapped without meaning to. “I may as well leave this earth now that my dear Eliza is no longer with us.” 

“Don’t do that to me,” John pleaded. “Philip is gone. My mother is gone. I already lost you once. Please, don't give up.” 

“I am supposed to be dead!” Alexander shouted, hastily running a hand through his dark hair that had become messy after days in bed. “You would be alone anyway.” 

Despite his son’s age, Alexander saw the much younger John he had known in his eyes as they filled with tears. “Maybe you should have stayed dead.”

John left after that. His things had disappeared. Alexander was left alone with his thoughts and the corpse of his wife. He had yet to get a word out to anyone who could help bury her. Alexander considered ending it all over the next few days. He could never really bring himself to do it and he was never sure he could die again. It might only bring pain and he did not need any more pain. 

Towards the end of the next week, he bought a few loaves of bread and brought them back home. He couldn’t eat much else. Eliza’s body had been taken the previous day but the smell of death was still lingering. Alexander morbidly wondered whether the people outside could smell it on his coat. He went back through the letters he never got a chance to give Eliza. He cried over every mention of her until some of the words were smudged with his tears. He ate a light dinner of water and bread then laid in Eliza’s death bed. It took him much longer to sleep these days. 

When he opened his eyes, Eliza’s bedroom had faded away and he was left with the emptiness of the void. He did not recall dying. He sat on the floor, waiting for the figure to reappear as John Laurens. 

“Alexander Hamilton,” a familiar voice said. It wasn’t John’s. “I never thought I would see you again. I usually do not see souls more than once.”  
“Why have you taken the form of Angelica now?” Alexander asked. “This makes me less comfortable than Laurens.” 

“Ah, that is because your lovely wife is here,” said the imposter. “Elizabeth, your husband has made his return to death.” 

Eliza appeared out of the darkness of the void but not as she died. She was youthful again and in the blue dress he loved so much. She ran to him and kissed him passionately on the lips. 

“Alexander, I missed you!” she exclaimed then her demeanor changed. “What happened to you? Why are you dead so soon? I refuse to be Romeo and Juliet.” 

“Broken heart,” said the imposter casually. “He could not live without you. Touching, truly. I always wondered why you tolerated such suffering, Elizabeth. I doubted it was only his poetic words and appearance.” 

“Who are you?” asked Alexander. The question had been on his mind since he had last been in the void. 

“I am so glad you asked. I am the Void Keeper. I decide your fate and make your transition from life to death as comfortable as possible.” 

“What do you actually look like? I don’t like you taking the form of my loved ones.” 

“If you are lucky, you will never see what I truly look like,” the Void Keeper said, twisting Angelica’s face into a leering grin. “Down to business, Hamiltons. I cannot keep you. Unfortunately, your souls do not belong to me. It does not appear as if they ever will. So, the question truly is, how would you like to return to Earth? Of course, I cannot affect this but my curiosity is piqued.” 

“What are you talking about?” Eliza asked nervously. Alexander took her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. 

“Would you like to be born again or would you like to respawn?” asked the Void Keeper. “Respawning, in this case, means you will be returning as you appear now, not the way you appeared when you died in your previous life.”

“I want to respawn,” Alexander said with complete certainty. “I want to grow old with Eliza then I want to do it again.” He turned to Eliza and pressed his forehead to hers. “I want to grow old with you for the rest of eternity, my love.” 

“So do I,” she whispered. 

When their eyes opened, they were on Earth again in the same place they had left it before.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> lmk what you think on here or on [tumblr](https://violetsbaudelaire.tumblr.com/)


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